


Matsuri

by ThirteenSocks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Matsuri - Freeform, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 23:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14943077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirteenSocks/pseuds/ThirteenSocks
Summary: Shiro takes Keith back to where he grew up in California. They spend the day having fun as Shiro takes Keith through his past, in the hopes that Keith will be his future.





	Matsuri

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kurobearkun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurobearkun/gifts).



> Thanks Kurobear for commissioning me!

* * *

”Wow.” Keith says, his small hand tenatively reaching out and feeling the fabrics of the carefully folded kimono. ”I... I might have my dad’s hanbok in storage somewhere. It’s probably moth-eaten by now. But- Well, I think he’s- he.. was.. taller than me.”

Shiro watches Keith.

Keith has always been hands-on. They’re currently in the section for the dressier kimono. They’re not quite formal, those ones are hung up to prevent wrinkles, and stowed away in a special room deeper in the shop. Shiro follows the movement of fingers, running again and again over the smooth fabric, and tracing the threaded details, all with a soft touch.

It was a surprise for Keith, for Shiro to fly them both out to California to spend time with Shiro’s grandfather. The shop they’re in is a kimono rental owned by the man, whom gladly let them in before open to choose something for the night’s summer festival.

”There were a few Korean families, back in Albuquerque but, I didn’t speak Korean and- it felt.. I didn’t care about my heritage back then. I was too upset that my parents- Anyways, sorry. Let’s just have a good time, ok?”

”Keith, it’s ok. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

Keith doesn’t move his eyes from the kimono, but Shiro can see the slight curve upward at the courners of his mouth.

  
They make their way to the yukata, whose cotton fabric will be much more bareable in the humid heat of the night.

Keith’s attention is caught by one that is a deep, brilliant red. His hand stills over it.

Shiro moves in behind him and reaches his arms around Keith, carefully drawing the yukata from the pile. Holding it up, he inspects it. It has purple, stylized clouds as part of the pattern. Over the breast, the side that will fold over the other, is an intricately stitched dragon. The thread is a deep gold. From its mouth spills flames, also crafted from thread, in reds and yellows. The fire wraps around the shoulder. The collar is an emerald red.

Shiro turns it over and brings it to Keith’s front, moving his head to look down from over Keith’s shoulder. He hums and then speaks softly into Keith’s ear. ”I can’t tell with your clothes on.” Shiro gently folds the yukata back up, his front still pressed behind Keith, and places it back on the shelf.

Shiro takes the hem on the front of Keith’ s shirt and waits.

”Go ahead.” Keith’s voice sounds scratchy.

Shiro lifts it up, Keith raising his arms to help, and lets it fall to the floor.

He brings his hands, which look large and expansive when they’re resting on Keith, to the man’s chest and drags his palm over, across, and down, until they rest at the button of pants. Shiro can feel the shuttering breaths, see the peaking of nipples, but he waits, again, for permission.

”Do it.” Keith hisses impatiently.

So he does.

Shiro retrieves the yukata back from the shelf, stepping back to put room between the two of them, and holds it open for Keith to put his arms through.

He nudges Keith to turn around after.

Taking the collar in both hands, he lays one side across Keith’s breast, allowing his palm to catch over a nipple, and repeats the gesture for the other side.

”You look so handsome.” Shiro muses, taking in how Keith looks clothed in the yukata.

Keith’s breathing is visible.

”Hold this closed while I find an obi.”

Shiro looks around for a plain, black one. He finds one, with little patterns of triangles in gold.

He ties it expertly around Keith, making the knot and then sliding it to the back.

”Now we just need some geta.” Shiro makes his way over to the shelf with them, finding one that will match Keith’s size. Shiro chuckles. ”I have always wanted to see you in heels.”

Keith groans.

Easing to his knees, Shiro helps Keith into the shoes, having already put on the tabi socks first thing. He startles when he feels fingers running through his hair.

”You look good down there.” Keith mumbles, his voice that delicious, honeyed rasp.

Shiro smoothes the fabric from thighs, leaving trails of kisses on their inners. He sucks and nips a hickey into one. Between them, Keith presses heavy against Shiro’s cheek.

”Mmm, let’s not make a mess now.” Shiro chuckles, squeezing those thighs and rises back to his feet. He adjust it back properly on Keith, but not before a smack to the ass and some kneading.

Shiro dresses in a gray and white striped yukata. His obi is more ornate, depicting a lion on it. Keith tries to tie the obi with instructions from Shiro, but after the third try huffs and lets Shiro guide his hands.

* * *

 

  
They decide to get lunch. Keith asks if they need to go change, but Shiro says it’d be too much trouble. Though they both know the real reason is that if Shiro gets Keith out of it, Keith is not getting back in it. Keith couldn’t have missed the need Shiro has to press the man deep into the mattress, anymore than Shiro could see Keith’s need to be pressed into it.

It’s nostalgic for Shiro, walking down the streets nearby his grandfather’s kimono rental shop.

There’s a restaurant nearby that’s owned by friends of his grandfather. It cute, hole-in-the-wall. The family was first generation immigrants from Japan. Shiro and Keith head in.

Their waitress brings over two bowls os miso soup. Shiro chats with the waitress, who recognized him. They used to play together when they were little. She talks about her family, that she has a husband and they have a daughter together. Shiro introduces Keith.

”Boyfriend, huh? Takashi, you sure about that? The way two look at each other...” she taps the pencil against her order pad.

”Y-yeah, uh. Haha. Uh-” Shiro trips over his words before finally pointing down at the menu.

”Our ’kashi here’s still so shy. Seems that hasn’t changed.” She winks at Keith and the two share a laugh. ”Alright, I’ll have those right out.”

”I feel like you’re taking me to meet your family.” Keith snorts before slurping up his bowl of miso soup.

Shiro one-shots his scoulding hot tea.

  
After lunch, they head to a karaoke bar.

The inside smells strange and song selection book is sticky, with what they both hope is beer, but it’s still a good time. They sing a love song duet. Keith tries to sing the woman’s part, having to go falsetto and sounding like a teenage boy. Shiro tries to sing the man’s part, sounding like he’s a teenage boy trying not sound like one, the part being just too low for him. From then on it’s a race to find the most terrible song. They end it by singing All Star, enunciating the word ”mold” just like the original.

They laugh all the way through the building, and down a few blocks. Shiro can’t help but think of his childhood friend and her marriage and child, as he watches the unihibited joy take over Keith’s face.

* * *

 

  
”The sun’s starting to set, let’s head down to the beach.”

By the beachfront, stalls are setting up for the evening.

Keith takes Shiro over to one that has games set up. Keith tries the one where he has to fish things out of the water with a rice-paper paddle. He disintegrates it nearly the first second it touches the water. Frustrated, and now determined to win, he pays for another round. This one lasts a bit longer, but not by much. Shiro tells him there are other games but Keith just grunts and digs into wallet. It’s only by the sixth try that Shiro gets him to quit.

”Come on, Keith.”

”Yeah, yeah.” He clicks his tongue.

Except his eyes look sad. Like maybe he had wanted one of the prizes. Shiro doesn’t see anything particularly interesting, they’re all just phone charms.

”Dangit.” Shiro sighs and buys himself a round. Thankfully, unlike Keith, he wins on the first try.

”Go on, pick the one.” Shiro nudges Keith gently with his elbow.

”No, Shiro, it’s your win. I can’t- No.”

”Keith it’s just a cell charm.”

”Shiro-”

”Please.”

”... I’ll take that hippo.”

 

They walk around the night market, taking a look at the wares.

It’s strange to be hearing so much Japanese again, Shiro thinks. He feels a bit bad for Keith, but figures he can translate as needed.

They pick up some icecream in a waffle. It has real honeycomb and some crushed oreos sprinkled on top.

Keith laughs at Shiro when Shiro gets down to eating the honeycomb.

”What?” He says carefully around the fully mouth. ”It’s chewy.”

Keith pats Shiro’s chest. ”C’mon, buddy. Good boys swallow.”

He almost chokes on the stupid honeycomb.

* * *

 

  
As the crowd fills in, Shiro finds himself feeling anxious. He’s greatful to Keith, whom recognizes the signs immediately, and walks them both to a quieter side street. Keith finds a bench and gently guides Shiro to sit down, reminding him to breathe. It’s hard to measure time when you’re panicing.

Keith sits down beside him.

”Do you miss it?”

Shiro inhales and releases a shakey breath. ”Here?”

”Here... Yeah. Your family, your friends, your.. history. Your life.” Keith raises his feet and taps his toes against the ground. The geta sandal clicks against the hard cement.

”I haven’t really thought about it. I just went out to the Garrison and... Never looked back I guess.” Shiro leans his head back and closes his eyes. ”Life’s about always moving forward. I didn’t want to get stuck here, not when I knew my purpose, y’know?”

The soft cluck of a tongue makes Shiro open his eyes and look at Keith.

The humid air has his skin soft and dewy, in a way it isn’t when they’re back in Garrison. The breeze from the sea must have worked its way through the buildings, because Keith’s hair is gently brushing to and fro his face. His expression is open, waiting, waiting for Shiro to direct the conversation. There’s a question Keith is trying to ask, but it seems to die at his vocal chords.

”Something wrong?” Shiro reaches over brushing hair behind Keith’s ear. His fingertips linger against the skin of the shell of Keith’s ear.

”It’s nothing.” Keith smiles with his mouth but not his eyes. ”C’mon, let’s head back over, if you’re ready. I hear the fireworks starting.”

  
They make their way to edge of the beach. Shiro insists he can hold Keith’s sandals, but Keith just huffs and wobbles his way through the sand.

The deep booming of the fireworks sets Shiro ill at ease, but the sparkle and excitement they alight in Keith’s eyes is enough to keep him grounded.

The light, is brilliant flashes of reds and purples, washes over Keith. Shiro thinks he looks like a painting. He traces every inch of Keith with his eyes and tries to commit it to memory.

”Hey Keith,” Shiro gets his attention, ”Do yo- Uh. Have you ever thought about.. the future? I mean, us. Have you thought about us?”

The skin between Keith’s brows scrunches together. ”What about us?”

A blue firwework explodes and makes a halo behind Keith.

”Well, the future. What you were talking about earlier- I- Keith.”

A screaming firework hisses its way behind them. Like all the other blasts, it doesn’t fail to frame Keith, to highlight his silhouette with light.

The words utterly fail him.

So Shiro reaches into the small coin purse tucked into his obi. With two fingers he plucks out a ring, the rosegold glimmering with the display behind them. As Shiro works his way down to a knee, he watches something born in Keith’s expression. It starts as disbelief, then becomes hope, and finally it’s tears that fill his eyes and spill quickly down his cheeks.

”Keith, I love you. I- I took us out here to meet my grandfather. Because, It’s- Keith, I want to spend my life with you. I’m home when I’m with you. You help me when I’m terrified. You bring me joy and laughter. Keith, will- will you marry me?”

”Shiro.” Keith’s voice is broken. ”Yes, I- I do. Shiro, I love you too.”

Shiro gently coaxes Keith’s left hand in front of him and slides the ring on. It’s a plain band, but it’s beautiful against Keith’s skin.

* * *

 

  
It’s a production to get Shiro to his feet. One that ends in both of them falling in the sand. To which they both just laugh. There’s something so beautiful and tender in the way it breaks the seriousness.

The last of the fireworks explode in a grand finale of a rainbow of colors.

”Hey Shiro.” Keith stumbles a little, gaining his equilibrium again. They’re walking arm-in-arm to their car.

”Mm?”

”I think it’s my turn to be on my knees.” The texture to Keith’s voice makes Shiro’s insides boil.

The walk to the car goes much faster from there.

Shiro drives home in what must be record time, eager to spend the night with his fiancé.


End file.
